Three years ago I lost a yellow dog to cancer, this poem hit me hard. For those who think I hate everything, read this.

Yellow Dog

You keep your lofty abstract god,
Myself, I choose a child of Pan,
An ordinary yellow dog
Who does for love what mortals can,
Who stretches out her mortal frame
Determinedly, although she's lame
For one more walk beside her man.

Whose ashes grace the forest way
We roamed together yesterday.
And, to the wilder god I pray:
Give her soul some woods to run,
A stick to fetch, a patch of sun.
And near her, Pan, preserve a place
For me, come from a lesser race.

Bill Levenworth cr 1994